Chapter 3: The Weight Of Scorn

The walk home was endless. My boots scraped against the dirt road, each step heavier than the last. The voices of the villagers still rang in my ears, sharp as blades, tearing at whatever hope I had left.

I used to imagine this walk feeling different. Victorious. Proud. I'd thought I'd return a hero, the kind kids dreamed of becoming. Instead, I was trudging home like a ghost, my steps weighed down by disappointment.

The village square stretched before me, its worn cobblestones glowing faintly in the fading sunlight. The ancient oak stood at its center, branches like tired arms reaching for the sky. I'd always thought its roots whispered stories of heroes long past. But today, it stood silent. Indifferent.

A few shopkeepers packed up their stalls, casting glances my way. Some pitiful, some indifferent. I heard quiet murmurs drifting on the breeze—nothing cruel, but nothing comforting either.

On the edge of the square, a group of children played, brandishing sticks as imaginary swords.

"Fire Step!" one shouted, leaping from a crate.

"No, no! I've got Sky Howl!" another yelled, spinning in place.

Their laughter was sharp and innocent, but it cut deeper than any blade. I'd played the same game once, dreaming of the day I'd stand tall like the heroes of the past.

But there I was now, shoulders low, head down, walking through the square like someone forgotten.

I pushed open the door of our home and stepped inside, the warmth of the kitchen doing little to thaw the cold inside my chest. The air smelled of rosemary and baking bread, comforting and cruel all at once.

Mom turned from the stove, a hopeful smile that faltered the moment she saw my face. "Keal...?"

I couldn't answer. My throat tightened, words caught in a storm of shame. I shrugged off my cloak and left it draped over the chair.

How could I tell them? How could I make them understand that my power—the thing meant to protect them—was useless noise?

Dad stood from his seat by the window, setting aside his farming knife. "Son."

Blanc's small voice piped up from the table. "Did you get Fire Step, Keal? Or Sky Howl? What is it?"

The words hit harder than any mockery. I tried to smile, but it crumbled before it formed. "It's... it's called Echo Step," I forced out, barely audible.

Blanc blinked. "Echo Step? That sounds cool! What does it do?"

I looked away. "Nothing useful."

I didn't deserve his excitement. Not when my power couldn't defend anyone.

Silence filled the room. Heavy. Suffocating.

Mom placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. "Come, eat something. We'll talk after."

But I couldn't. Not yet. I needed to be alone.

"I'm... going outside," I muttered, slipping past them before they could stop me.

I wandered to the old field behind our house where the grass grew wild and the wind spoke only in whispers. Long blades of grass brushed against my legs, damp with evening dew. Fireflies blinked like distant stars among the weeds. In the far-off hills, a lone owl called, its cry fading into the darkening sky.

This field had always been a place of peace for me. When I was younger, I'd lie on my back with Blanc, tracing the shapes in the clouds, dreaming of the day I'd earn my power. I thought the world would feel bigger when that day came. But right now, it just felt empty.

I sat down and hugged my knees to my chest. I remembered once telling Blanc, "One day, I'll protect this whole village. No one will ever have to be afraid again."

What a fool I'd been.

There, beneath the fading sky, I tried again.

"Echo Step."

I stepped forward—and my footfalls echoed unnaturally, delayed and distorted, like someone was following me just out of sight.

Like a shadow I couldn't outrun. Like a ghost of the person I was supposed to be.

Pointless. No power. No weapon. Just... noise.

I clenched my fists, my voice breaking. "What good is this?!"

Frustration boiled in my chest. I picked up a stone and threw it as far as I could, hearing it thud uselessly in the tall grass. For a moment, the only answer was the wind.

Tears burned at my eyes, but I wiped them away. Crying wouldn't change anything. But I couldn't stop the ache gnawing at my heart.

They needed a protector. I was supposed to be their shield. What kind of shield echoes when struck?

Hours passed. Darkness settled in. I sat on the grass, hugging my knees, cold and alone. The wind tugged at my hair, sharp and restless. Above me, clouds drifted over the moon, leaving patches of silver and shadow across the field.

Finally, footsteps approached—quiet, familiar.

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"Keal?" Mom's voice drifted through the twilight, soft as the wind rustling through the tall grass. "It's getting cold out. Come inside."

I stayed where I was, perched on the worn steps of our porch, knees hugged close to my chest. The night air nipped at my skin, but it wasn't enough to numb the ache in my chest.

I heard her footsteps before I felt her beside me. No scolding. No sigh of disappointment. Just her quiet presence settling next to mine, warm and steady. She wrapped her arms around my shoulders, gentle but firm, like she was holding the broken pieces of me together.

"It's not the skill that defines you," she whispered, her voice carrying the weight of quiet wisdom. "It's what you do with it."

I bit my lip, the tears stinging again. "But how, Mom?" My voice cracked under the strain of the day. "How do I protect you... protect Blanc... with something like this?"

I stared down at my hands—ordinary hands. Not the hands of a hero. Not the hands of someone who could change the world.

She smiled, soft and patient, brushing the stray strands of hair from my face like she used to when I was little. Her fingers were calloused from work, but tender with love.

"We'll figure it out. Together," she said, and in her voice, there was no doubt.

The memory came unbidden, clear as day: that rainy afternoon years ago, when I'd slipped from the old oak by the river. My knee had been scraped and raw, but what hurt worse was my pride. I'd cried then too—small, scared, alone—until she found me, rain dripping from her hair, her arms warm against the cold. She hadn't told me to be brave or to stop crying. She had just held me. Quiet. Steady. Until the storm passed.

And now... here we were again. Different pain, same love.

A soft creak of wood drew my gaze to the porch door. Dad stepped out, silent but solid. His shadow stretched long under the moonlight, broad and steady like a mountain. He didn't speak at first, just sat beside us, his presence alone saying enough. The familiar scent of earth and wood clung to him—the comforting smell of home.

He ruffled my hair gently, his hand rough but reassuring. "When I was your age," he began, voice low like distant thunder, "I thought my skill was useless too. Took me years to understand that power isn't in the skill itself... it's in how we use it."

I turned to him, surprised.

"What was your skill?" I asked, voice small.

He chuckled softly, scratching his chin. "Ah, that's a story for another night." He winked. "But let's just say... it wasn't flashy. But it kept this family safe more than once."

The door creaked again. Little footsteps pattered across the porch, and soon Blanc barreled into me, her small arms wrapping tight around my waist like a lifeline.

"I think Echo Step sounds awesome!" Blanc declared, puffing her cheeks in defiance against the world. "Maybe it'll scare away monsters with how cool it is!"

Her words were so earnest, so full of childlike certainty, that I couldn't help it. I laughed—broken, messy, but real. The kind of laugh that cracked the sadness just enough to let the light in.

Blanc giggled too, climbing onto my lap as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

We sat there, the four of us, wrapped in the quiet hush of the night. The stars stretched far above us, cold and distant, yet somehow comforting. Their light was faint, but steady—like us.

Mom rested her head against Dad's shoulder. He smiled softly, gazing up at the sky.

"You know," Dad murmured, "when things seem too big, I like to look at the stars. Makes our problems feel... a little smaller. Like there's still so much more out there waiting for us."

"And maybe," Mom added, "Echo Step is just the first step of something bigger."

I followed their gaze, letting my breath slow, letting the silence settle around me like a warm blanket. Somewhere out there, beyond the hills and forests, beyond the stars, my future waited. Unwritten. Uncertain.

But waiting, nonetheless.

And for the first time that day, that thought didn't scare me.